Can't Hold a Man's Dreams Against Him
by unforth
Summary: "I Dream of Deanie" Part 1. While on a hunt, Castiel gets a dose of djinn toxin, and finally gets to experience what he's really wanted all along. Set vaguely S5ish. Shameless Destiel PWP. Continued in "The First Time, Again."


Castiel took a deep breath of stale air, extending his grace to assess the location of every living entity in the bunker. There was Dean, of course, his soul glowing warmly. Merely brushing against that bright beacon sent a shiver down Castiel's spine and left him longing to thread his grace through it, fill himself with the protective love that oozed out, strengthen every weak spot with his own magic. That wasn't an option, though, and Dean could never know how much Castiel wanted to. As if sensing his thoughts, Dean's soul flared brightly, and Castiel realized that Dean had spoken to him.

"Yes," he managed. "Yes, I am well. Thank you for asking, Dean."

"Remember: don't let it touch you!" admonished the hunter in a breathy whisper meant to carry. Castiel nodded.

Sam was out of sight, visually, but his soul was also readily detectable. It swirled in purple and black, fought against the restraints that Sam had placed on it. Sam was always difficult to look at, because every instinct that Castiel had screamed that Sam was tainted and evil, yet Castiel knew better. Sam Winchester was a good man who had been twisted against his will, just as Dean had been. Both deserved forgiveness. Both deserved salvation. If Castiel was able to heal the damage that the demon's blood had done, he would. Sam's soul did not draw him as Dean's did, though.

The wall before them was solid, but it was no barrier to Castiel's grace. Beyond it, there was an unseen room where three more souls called to him. One was faint and growing fainter, a human on the verge of dying. The second flickered like a candle in a wind, responding to whatever the person was experiencing. Given what they were dealing with, that could be anything. The third was strong, vibrant and fighting for control. There was hope for all three, he thought with relief, provided they received aid quickly.

Confusingly, he didn't sense their foe anywhere. That should be impossible. The bunker – a vintage 1960s nuclear fallout shelter built in the backyard of a long-dead "be prepared" sort – had only one entrance. They had watched the pale skinned, tattooed woman enter. Her soul was extremely distinct, flaring with the same blue that sparked when she used her powers. There was no place else she could be, yet Castiel sensed nothing.

"Dean, something is wrong," Castiel said, not bothering to whisper. "She's not here."

"Hsssst," Dean snapped, placing a finger to his lips. With a sigh, Castiel obeyed.

"She's not here," he repeated in a whisper. Dean rolled his eyes and gestured for Castiel to go down one narrow, concrete hallway as Dean went down the other.

Striding confidently, Castiel went as he was directed. There was no longer any need to move cautiously. The djinn wasn't here.

Pain flared in his head, his vision swam, his entire body convulsed. His last thought before darkness enveloped him was that he had a new appreciation of the concept of irony.

Warmth surrounded him when awareness returned. He lay still, assessing his situation. His eyelids were painted with pink, suggesting that the room beyond was light. Against his skin, he could feel cloth: a blanket, he thought. There was something plush beneath his head. Something skimmed along his arm, and he started at the unfamiliar feeling.

"Cas, you awake?" the words were so garbled and fuzzed by drowsiness that Castiel could hardly understand them, but the voice was unmistakable. It was Dean, gruff and low, so close that he'd been able to speak directly into Castiel's ear. Groping with his grace, feeling for the familiar soul, Castiel swallowed hard when he realized it lay right beside him. There was another touch on his arm, and he recognized it this time. Calloused fingers brushed through dark hairs, trailed over his shoulder and pressed into the base of his neck, rubbing. They left a trail of tingling heat in their wake, and Castiel shuddered.

"What'sa matter?" slurred Dean.

Castiel was a warrior of Heaven. He was served in the Host for thousands of years. He had battled uncountable monsters, fought innumerable wars, stood with his siblings against unspeakable foes. He had been captured and faced tortures beyond what flesh could possibly conceive of. He and his brothers and sisters had breached Hell itself. Much of it had been terrible, agonizing, pain and struggle beyond the comprehension of a mortal. All of it, he had faced with confidence.

This. This he could not face.

Panic filled his thoughts. He could not do this. He could not be here. This was impossible. He flailed for the last thing he could remember. They'd been fighting a djinn. He felt a flare of relief. This was a djinni hallucination. Dean's hand drifted to Castiel's chest, tracing the line of his breast, before settling to rub clumsily at his nipple. Unexpected heat accompanied the simple movement, and he felt the flesh respond to the rough touch, going taut. It felt good in a way he'd never imagined, and he bit his lip against an involuntary sound of pleasure. The panic reasserted itself. Castiel's body didn't care that this was a hallucination. All his vessel knew was that Dean's touch felt spectacular and he wanted more.

Grabbing a hold of his wavering determination, Castiel threw the blankets aside and sat up. Eyes open, he took in a ragged motel room with orange wallpaper, brown carpeting, and bright green curtains. There was only one bed. Beside him, Dean shoved the bedding off his torso and lounged on the bed, miles of bare tan muscled skin exposed, gorgeous green eyes blinking against the glow of morning.

"Did you have the same dream, babe?" Dean asked. There was a catch of sympathy in his tone, and despite himself Castiel responded to that tone. He had to reassure. He had to comfort. He couldn't let Dean think that he was hurt when he wasn't.

Oh no! What was he thinking? He couldn't buy in to this fantasy, even for a moment, or he'd be lost.

"I'm fine," snapped Castiel.

An arm snaked around Castiel's hips, brushed against his thighs, the soft skin of his belly, his half-hard erection. His mind went blank as a burst of interested pleasure firmed his arousal. Somehow, he'd missed the part where he was naked. Frantic thoughts skittered out of reach. He had to move! He had to get away from this unacceptable situation.

But, oh, he wanted to stay so badly.

The arm around him tightened, and Castiel felt growing warmth as Dean used the grasp to pull himself over to Castiel. Lips brushed against the base of Castiel's spine, and he inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact. The tingling that followed everywhere their skin touched spread, flaring to sparks that flowed through his entire body and pooled in his gut. He hardened further, dick twitching, brushing against Dean's arm. Against his back, Dean chuckled, hot, damp breath stirring on his back. Despite himself, Castiel whimpered.

"Yeah, you like that," whispered Dean. Fatigue had faded from his voice, replaced by a deep, teasing rasp. Wet tongue licked the same spot, a kiss, a nip, then Dean was sucking, and it hurt, yet it felt divine at the same time, literally divine, like the touch of his Father's presence.

_Have to go, have to leave, have to stop_, _have to..._

Dean's hand wrapped around his cock. With a base moan, all thought of escape disappeared. So many times, he'd watched humans make love and wondered what it felt like. So many times, he'd stared into Dean's expressive eyes and imagined them unfocused with desire. Dean's tongue traced a wet line up his back and his fingers loosely stroked Castiel. The heat of that contact was like nothing he'd ever imagined.

"Dean," his voice was so breathy he hardly recognized it.

Dean reached the base of Castiel's neck, planted a hard kiss behind his ear, and whispered, "Relax, Cas. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

"You always do, Dean," the words brought a flash of horror as he said them. Half-remembered times together, mornings, afternoons and nights spent in passionate embraces, flickered through his memories. Simultaneously, he could recall the truth, that this was a fever dream, that none of it was real. Nonsense, how could this be anything other than real? Dean was there, right there, drawing up against his body, pressing his gloriously muscled chest to Castiel's back, spreading his legs to encompass Castiel's, nestling his erection against the cleft of Castiel's butt. One of Dean's hands fondled Castiel's dick, the other meandered across Castiel's stomach and chest before settling on his neglected nipple, teasing at it roughly. With a happy sigh, Castiel leaned into the familiar embrace. "I love you."

The words forced a groan out of Dean. His hands froze. Startled, Castiel's hips weakly thrust into the immobile grip. He didn't want that splendid friction to stop. "Cas," Dean's voice was, somehow, even more wrecked than before. "Don't say things like that."

Twisting in the embrace, Castiel turned so he could face Dean, tangling their legs together. He wrapped his arms loosely around Dean's neck. The hunter refused to meet Castiel's eyes. "Why don't you think you deserve my love, Dean?"

"You know I can't..." Dean licked his lips. Oh, but that was adorable. Castiel leaned in and caught Dean's soft mouth against his own, kissing the words away. For a moment, Dean resisted the contact, but then his tongue flicked out to tease at Castiel's, and they shared a deep, hot breath. Pulling away, Castiel caught that gaze and wouldn't let it go. Dean was perfect, masculine jaw sporting dark stubble, lips pink and full, eyes a deep forest green in the dim room. His hair was a mess of tufts sticking in all directions. Castiel scraped Dean's back with his nails, drew a line up Dean's neck. Dean's eyes slipped shut rapturously at the contact, his head falling back, a breathy exhalation marking his approval. Castiel buried his hands in Dean's hair and pulled him into another kiss.

Dean's arms closed around him convulsively, pulling their bodies flush. Moaning into Dean's mouth, Castiel lost himself in the wet smack of lips and tongues as they explored as if they hadn't done this a thousand times before. Dean's erection brushed against his, and Castiel had to break off the kiss as he gasped, electric pleasure bolting through him. Uncontrollably, his hips bucked into the contact, yearning for more, rubbing Dean's dick, his chest, his thigh, with his hard on.

"You may have this," panted Castiel. "I want you to have this. I want you to have me."

"Cas," groaned Dean. Hands gripped him hard enough to hurt, the pain combining with pleasure in a way that was intimately familiar and entirely welcome. Dean pressed him back, forcing Castiel to lie flat back onto the mattress, and the hunter's strong body settled atop him, solid weight hot, putting pressure on Castiel in all the right places.

Lips met again, hips rutted together, pleasure burst through Castiel's mind in waves. It felt as good as he'd dreamed it would be. No, it felt better, it felt so much better. Strong arms caged him beneath the subject of his every fantasy, and he reached up and ran his hands along thick corded arms, firm shoulders, and down Dean's sides. Above him, Dean shuddered, breath growing ragged, kisses broken by gasps for air and half-articulated promises of what Dean would do to pleasure Castiel. "Gonna spread you wide...gonna fill you...gonna...gonna stroke you...gonna make you come..." Castiel wanted every single one, wanted to feel them over and over again, wanted to reciprocate each.

Dean shifted, and for an instant Castiel thought he was going to leave. Breaking off his tender caresses, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's torso and clutched him close. He couldn't escape the feeling that if Dean stopped touching him now, it would all be over, and he'd never experience this again. Dean laughed at the show of desperation, a sound that warmed Castiel even more than their physical contact did. It sounded real, genuine, from his very heart. After all that Dean had suffered, in that simple sound Castiel heard the most precious confession of all: that Dean was happy in Castiel's arms. A moment later, Dean's weight was back. One hand snaked between them, sparing time to rub along Castiel's waist, massage his thigh, cup his balls, before settling at his puckered entrance. At the first gentle swipe, Castiel's entire body quaked, rubbing their dicks together. Dean broke off with a groan.

"Sensitive," Dean whispered. "Like our first time. Fuck, Cas, that's so hot." Accompanying the words, Dean repeatedly drew his thumb across the opening, teasing at the edges, flicking at the delicate skin around it. Castiel tossed his head to the side, pressing it against a pillow, inhalations dissolving into broken, desperate whimpers. Part of him knew what was coming, but part of him wasn't sure, didn't know what he craved, only knew that he needed it.

"Please," he managed. Dean knew what he needed, Castiel was certain of that. "Dean, please."

"Impatient, too," Dean's body trembled above him. Dean nuzzled the curve of Castiel's neck and pressed the finger into him. Castiel's hips rose into the contact and he moaned, long and low, eyes slipping shut.

The inserted thumb was gone again just like that, though Castiel tried to chase it, longed to be filled. Then Dean's weight was gone as well. Fumbling with arms that felt far weaker than they had any right to be, Castiel tried to pull him back. "I'm right here," said Dean gruffly. "I've got you covered." Castiel opened his eyes, tears blurring his vision, and watched as Dean grabbed a bottle from the nightstand and squeezed some of the contents onto his hand. Whatever he was doing, it was taking far too long. Castiel needed to feel him _now._ Propping himself up on his elbows, he caught Dean in a kiss, delighting in the returning warmth and pressure as Dean resumed his former position atop him. Nothing had ever felt so right.

There was no warning when the finger thrust into him deeply. Castiel groaned, tearing free of Dean's lips, his entire body going rigid as he strained into the contact. Above him, Dean buried his head in Castiel's shoulder, breathing hard. It wasn't enough. Dean wasn't moving! Why wasn't he moving? With a growl of needy frustration, Castiel drew back his hips and then thrust into Dean's hand, brushing their erections as he did. Teeth nipped at his shoulder blade as Dean groaned loudly, sound vibrating through Castiel's entire body. The finger penetrated him deeply, spreading liquid heat through his insides. That was the feeling that had been missing, that he needed. Castiel thrust again, and again, trying to slake his desire, but the need grew as the pleasure did.

"Fuck," moaned Dean. "You're a filthy little angel, aren't you, Cas?"

"More," Castiel demanded. Dean's moan turned into a throaty laugh, and he met the next upturn of Castiel's hips with a second finger which drove in alongside the first. It wasn't until he felt himself more filled, more stretched out, that he realized that was what he'd been demanding when he'd asked for more. The fingers buried knuckle deep in his ass bent, pressing hard against the wall of his insides as Castiel continued to seize the intense pleasure that he yearned for. Dean matched the rhythm that Castiel set, thrusting their cocks together, forcing friction between the sensitive organs and their stomachs. Pleasure mounted, every breath a moan, as Castiel spread his legs wider, trying to force Dean deeper.

Abruptly, Dean settled his weight back, forcing his knees beneath Castiel's ass at an angle that prevented Castiel from moving as he wanted. Grunting, Castiel tried to shift in turn, but Dean grabbed Castiel's hips and held him in place. The grunt melted into a plaintive whine. He hated not being able to continue that impossibly delightful movement, hated the cool air that now brushed against his chest and chilled the pre-cum that beaded on his dick.

"Gotta trust me," Dean admonished. The fingers drew out of him and Castiel whimpered, trying to slide against the sweat-soaked sheet to maintain the contact. "Trust me." For a moment that felt like an eternity, there was nothing, no lips against his, no weight pressing onto him, no friction against his aching cock, no thickness filling him. He watched Dean through lidded eyes, saw the red flush of the other man's hard-on, the scars that perfected his toned body, the heaving of his chest as he panted for breath through parted, swollen lips, the green eyes that stared into Castiel and promised pleasure and love and companionship.

_If only this would never end_.

Three fingers drove into him, and Castiel practically sobbed in relief. There was little finesse to Dean's movements now. Tense desperation lined his face, and he forced his hand into Castiel as deeply as he could, drawing the fingers apart to loosen him, spread the lubricant, ease the way for the greater intrusion to come. The hand on Castiel's hips tightened and pulled, tugging Castiel into position for what he knew was coming next, lining up his hips and Dean's throbbing erection. The fingers continued their work, but while they still brought pleasure, Castiel could no longer be satisfied with that. He knew, somehow, that what was coming next was going to be even better, and he grew impatient for it, not only because it was going to feel amazing, but because he knew it was going to make Dean feel amazing, too.

With a liquidy sound, Dean's fingers pulled free, and Castiel groaned in anticipation, wiggling to get closer to Dean's hard on. Grabbing himself, Dean rubbed the head of his dick against Castiel's ass. "This what you want?"

"Yes!"

"Tell me!" Dean teased at his opening, pressing in just slightly. Releasing his grip on himself, Dean hooked an arm beneath each of Castiel's legs and rocked forward. Castiel was driven into the mattress, folded nearly double, Dean leaning over him, Dean's expression rapt and demanding as he met Castiel's eyes, his face framed by Castiel's legs. The pressure of Dean's cock against him was unbelievably enticing, the angle leaving Castiel practically helpless to force Dean inside him as he so desperately wanted.

"Please," he moaned again, twitching his hips against the contact.

"Tell me," Dean said again, forcing himself closer. Every muscle of Castiel's body strained for contact, for touch, for Dean.

"I want you inside me," gasped Castiel. "I need it. Please, Dean." Dean groaned and eased forward, hardness pushing at tight muscle, straining despite the preparation. Castiel felt the instant his entryway gave before the pressure and Dean penetrated him, felt it like salvation, but still the need was not alleviated. "More! Please!" Castiel's voice grew ragged as his body strained to keep Dean out, strained to welcome him in. Dean was big and hard and thick, his face a stunning combination of rapturous pleasure and rigid control. He let out a desperate, strained sound as Castiel took more and more of him in. "Please...please..."

"Cas!" Balls brushed Castiel's butt as Dean sheathed himself completely in Castiel. Castiel's eyes fluttered open and shut, catching the blissful expression on Dean's face in brief, gorgeous flashes. "So fucking good. Always so _fucking_ good for me."

They lay unmoving for an eternity of seconds as Castiel's body stretched and relaxed to accommodate Dean's cock. Above him, Dean trembled visibly, eyes fluttering open and shut as he forced himself to restraint. As the moment stretched out, all thought faded into a single fixed point: Dean had to move. Castiel lifted his hips, and Dean groaned. "Cas!"

"Move!" Castiel ordered.

"You sure you're ready?" The man had the audacity to smirk at him! Castiel ground his spine into the bed, forcing his hips up, and clenched. Dean's head flew back, mouth wide, no sound emerging as his entire body arched around the spot where Castiel's muscles contracted around Dean's sensitive dick.

"Move!"

Dean moved. The first strokes were slight, Dean rocking his hips rather than thrusting, causing his erection to rub and brush and chaff at Castiel's insides. It felt...there were no words for how it felt. Amazing. Spectacular. Beyond anything he'd dreamed of. Better than flying, better than fighting, better than stretching out his grace, better than anything. Dean lengthened his thrusts, pulling back to withdraw almost entirely before easing his way back in, movements simultaneously aggressive and gentle.

Heavy breathing was the only sound until Dean made a dissatisfied snort. Confused, Castiel opened his eyes. Dean's eyes were wide, pupils blown with desire. His skin was flushed and beaded with sweat. Castiel was at a loss to understand what he was doing wrong. Dean looked like he was in the throes of passion, and certainly Castiel felt absolutely amazing. The only thing he felt lacking was contact with his own erection, which twitched and spasmed in time to Dean's thrusts. He spread his legs wider, allowing Dean even further within him, and despite the indecent whimpers this provoked from each of them, Dean made another frustrated noise. Settling back on his haunches, Dean continued to pump into Castiel as he seized Castiel's hips with his hands.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked. His worry amplified enough to begin to detract from the gratification surging through his veins.

Dean shifted Castiel's hips, pulling them closer, tilting them up.

"Dean, I..."

The next thrust hit a spot so good that it obliterated all remaining thought, dissolving what he'd been saying in a blistering explosion of sensation. Tears squeezed from eyes that Castiel couldn't keep open, his breath hitching on a sound so embarrassing he swallowed it.

"That's it," whispered Dean between gasping breaths. Holding Castiel precisely in place, he thrust again, and the feeling repeated even more intensely. Castiel bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, the slight pain essential to keep the profound bliss from scouring him. "Let me hear you, angel." Again. "Let me hear, Cas!" Again!

"Oh, Dean," Castiel couldn't hold it in, wasn't even sure why he wanted to hold it in. Every movement now brushed the place that caused full sensory overload, incomprehensible pleasure.

"That good for you?"

"Yes," he moaned, head turning from side to side. His fingers scrambled at the sheets. He needed to touch something, to hold on to something, or else he'd float away, lose himself completely. His body tensed, back arching.

"Fuck, Cas." Dean's thrusts grew harder, rougher, more erratic. The tempo increased, and Castiel lay helpless at the onslaught, overwhelmed by the experience. "Feel so good. So good."

"Dean!" Castiel felt like he was teetering at the edge of something, something immense, something unimaginable, something he needed more than he'd ever needed anything.

With a thrust so hard it caused Dean's balls to noisily smack against Castiel's flesh, Dean let out a moan that seemed torn from out of his lungs. "Castiel!" Dean cried. The sound of Castiel's full name in that sex-torn voice was as much a turn on as anything they'd done. Spasmodic half-thrusts followed, and despite the pleasure searing through him, filling every crevice of his thoughts, Castiel whimpered in distress because whatever it was he was close to, he wasn't there and he didn't know how to get there. Whatever it was, Dean had just achieved it without him, and he felt empty, abandoned, and desperate.

Warmth closed around his dick, Dean's fingers clutching him hard. "Castiel," Dean breathed his name again and rubbed him roughly, squeezing, and that was all it took. Beyond words, Castiel cried out as the pleasure crested and shattered him, Dean's calloused hand pushed him over the edge, milked come from Castiel's dick and broken moans from his lips as his release cascaded through his body.

Intense waves washed over him, bringing rapture even as he thrust weakly into Dean's hand. There was no thought beyond how good and right everything felt, no awareness beyond the points of contact between their bodies, no need for anything more. Dean pulled back slightly, withdrawing himself from Castiel. Though his eyes were closed, Castiel felt Dean lean over him and draw close, running his hands along Castiel's torso and chest before settling one beside Castiel's head and the other on his cheek. Their lips brushed together.

"That was amazing, Dean," he murmured, punctuating the beloved name with a kiss.

"Don't ever leave me, Cas," Dean mouthed against his cheek.

Sharp pain intruded suddenly, and Castiel gasped.

"Don't you leave me!" Dean's voice was harsher, no longer thick with spent lust.

"Dean?" he whispered uncertainly, looking at his lover.

"You get your feathery ass back here. You hear me, you bastard?" Dean was shouting at him. The apparition beside him didn't move, its mouth still against his in a kiss.

This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

"Dammit, wake the fuck up!"

Castiel threw off the embrace, saw Dean's features twist in surprise and unhappiness. "Cas?" he asked uncertainly. Castiel shook his head. His body felt lethargic, pulsing with residual pleasure, and his heart screamed to accept the reality that he saw and ignore the agony that tried to draw him away.

The ghost who had embraced him faded. It wasn't he who spoke. The djinn. The bunker. None of this was real. Dean didn't love him, Dean didn't want him, but it didn't matter, because Castiel loved Dean and would do whatever he asked regardless. The vision faded, taking the afterglow with it. In its place was darkness, bone chilling cold and isolation pressing in on him from all sides.

"Fuck, man, please," he heard Dean say brokenly.

A single point of warmth formed, a hand touching his cheek, cupping it gently.

"Please, Cas, I need you."

Dean's words, desperate, frightened, carried Castiel out of the dark. Dean had said those words to him before, but in that moment, Castiel felt like he truly heard them for the first time. With effort, he opened his eyes, blinking to clear away the mist of receding dreams. Dean leaned over him protectively, eyes black in the dank corridor, lips slack with worry. Their gazes met, and Dean released an explosive, relieved breath and broke into a smile more breathtaking than any expression that Castiel had seen while he'd made love to a phantasm.

"I can't leave," Castiel mumbled, surprised by how unresponsive his mouth felt, how difficult the words were to form. "You need me." Dean's eyes went wide with surprise. Castiel smiled warmly, and Dean's mouth dropped open. Castiel had never understood before, but now he did. "I need you too, Dean." _I love you too, Dean._

To Castiel's shock, Dean wrapped his arms around him, lifting him from the ground to draw their bodies together. "Jesus fucking Christ, don't scare me like that," Dean whispered into his ear.

"I'll never leave you." Dean shuddered against him and held him even more tightly. Weakly, Castiel lifted his arms and returned the embrace, snaking his arms beneath Dean's leather jacket. The warmth and solidity of the reality showed the dream for the faint mockery it was. Dean was shaking as if he was crying, though he didn't make a sound, and one hand rubbed Castiel's back.

"Hey guys, I killed the djinn!" Sam called from the other room. "I could use your help with the other victims!"

"Coming Sam," snapped Dean gruffly. He loosened his hold on Castiel, gently lowering him towards the ground. Their eyes met and Castiel beamed, unable to keep the affection he felt off his face. "Fuck, Cas" Dean muttered, and drew him fiercely close again. Castiel laughed with delight. Even in their fucked up, post-apocalyptic world, sometimes dreams did come true.

* * *

A/N: By popular demand, this story is now continued in "The First Time, Again."

Also, on June 5, 2015, I did a clean up/edit update of this story. Just neatened some things up. :)


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